


Give Back What Was Taken

by squidgie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann - Freeform, Background Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight - Freeform, Background Relationships, Derek "Nursey" Nurse Didn't Go to Samwell, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, POV Derek "Nursey" Nurse, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/pseuds/squidgie
Summary: Nursey is a poet, but in his spare time (and since he's not writing his third book, because reasons) he does modeling and commercial acting.  He auditioned for a "cool car" commercial but got called back for a completely different commercial.  Once on set, he meets people who end up feeling like long lost friends, including a redhead with far too many distracting freckles.
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	Give Back What Was Taken

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me in the middle of the planning of a completely different ~45,000 word Nursey/Dex AU that hasn't been fully fleshed out yet. That one will eventually get written (along with the 50,000 word pro fic that I'm supposed to be writing right now). This wouldn't have gone anywhere without the wonderful ear of [Goddess47](https://goddess47.dreamwidth.org) who helped me work out a bunch of the early details, nor without the help, ear, and crutch that [Popkin16](https://popkin16.dreamwidth.org) was for me - from the daily whines as I wrote it, to me coming up with the PERFECT title - as long as I rewrote part of the fic.
> 
> This has been run through Grammarly, but otherwise not betaed. Also, I don't have a Check, Please! content beta at the moment, so forgive any inconsistencies. 
> 
> Finally, I live outside of Portland - Oregon, not Maine. So if I got any of the Portland/Bangor stuff wrong, I apologize.

Derek only got lost twice on his way to the Boston studio, where his commercial was going to be filmed, which he definitely considered a win. He was slightly stressed going into the studio because he had been so focused on _not_ missing his alarm that he barely got any sleep. He hoped that there was going to be a good makeup artist on the shoot because even though his complexion was pretty flawless, there were bags under his eyes the size of the backpack he had flung over his shoulder on the way out the door. Cumbersome at times, but at least he had all the materials for writing when the mood struck.

He found the suite number for Bishop Creative in the directory outside and quickly found his way to the overlarge suite. It took up at least half of the building, which looked to be an old converted factory, and as he entered the massive oak doors that closed Bishop Creative from the outside world, he marveled at the sheer number of available sets. The commercial that he’d initially auditioned for was for a sports car, but his agent – acting agent, _not_ his writing agent. He hadn’t heard from his writing agent after blowing through his third deadline – called and said that the company wanted him for what they were calling a ‘progressive’ commercial. He wasn’t sure what the product the commercial was for, but since it was supposed to be a progressive campaign, he decided to go for it.

A man about half a foot shorter than him with blond hair and a couple of cowlicks wandered up to him, a clipboard in his hand. He was wearing a massive headset that he was mumbling into before he looked up into Derek’s eyes. “What’s your name, sugar?” he asked, his voice thick with a Southern accent.

“Derek. Derek Nurse,” Derek replied. “I’m here for a _progressive_ commercial? That’s all they told me.”

At the word ‘progressive,’ the blond rolled his eyes, and what exactly was that about? “You’re on set 28, honey. Right this way.” He took off at pace Derek found it hard to keep up with, and led him on a roundabout way to a set designed to look like a small kitchen in a quaint little home. No kitchen that Derek was used to, like sleek lines, slate gray cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. This kitchen was obviously supposed to be in some generic suburban neighborhood. It was nicely appointed with a refrigerator that had a couple of professional art pieces purposefully made to look like a kindergartener drew it, lacy curtains with fruit along the trim, and oak cabinets. It at least had marble counters, but definitely wasn’t his style. “Dex? Lardo? This is Derek Nurse, the guy for your ‘progressive’ shot.” He didn’t hide the fact that when he said progressive, there were air quotes included.

“Thanks, Bits,” a redheaded man with more freckles than Derek could concentrate on said, as a small, Asian woman with dark hair, half of her head shaved, said, “Thank you, Bitty.”

“Bitty?” Derek asked as he stared down at the assistant.

“Hockey nickname. My name’s actually Eric Bittle,” Bitty replied. He held up a finger and pressed his free fingers to his headset and said, “Be there in five,” as he stared off for a few seconds. “Sorry,” he said, then added, “Dex there and I played hockey in college,” as he pointed to the redhead, then turned to the Asian woman, “and Lardo was our manager.”

Hockey nicknames – that explained it. Derek nodded. “Nursey,” he said as he pointed to himself. “I played at Andover. Didn’t get a chance to play in college, though.”

“Hmm… Small world,” Bitty replied. He stood up on his tiptoes and peered at Derek, studying him, which Derek couldn’t help but wonder what _that_ was about. He ended up smiling for some reason. He _always_ smiled when he felt a bit uncomfortable. Figured it was his default setting rather than bunch his brow together and produce wrinkles far too early. “I can’t tell,” Bitty said as he studied him. “Original or veneers?”

So _that’s_ what it was about. “Oh! All original,” Derek said, then tapped on his teeth.

“That pretty _and_ good teeth?”

“Umm, thank you?” Derek replied. 

“Jack’s still prettier,” Lardo said as she fiddled with camera equipment.

“That he is,” the redhead, Dex, added as he walked up to Derek. He looked at Derek, studying him a moment, with amber eyes that seemed to reflect the light to the point of distraction and athletic build that made Derek appreciate the well filled out jeans and a tight, but makeup-smudged, t-shirt. He then pointed to himself and said, “Makeup and costume.” After considering Derek for another few seconds, he asked, “What, about 90 minutes of sleep last night?”

Damn. He was good. “About that, yeah,” Derek said. 

“Step into my office, and we’ll get you all dolled up,” he said, then started walking away.

“Wait, _you’re_ makeup?” Derek asked as he stumble-stepped to where this pale ginger dude was leading him.

Dex turned to glare at him, his brow pinched as the eyes cut to slits. “You got a problem with a dude doing makeup?” He crossed his arms over his chest, a sign of defiance if Derek had ever seen one.

“Yo, _chill_ ,” Derek replied, automatically putting his hands up in mock surrender. “A dude? No. But what the fuck does a ginger dude know about doing makeup for a Black dude?”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty replied, then patted Derek on the shoulder, a look of pity on his face. “Bless your heart.”

What exactly had Derek signed up for here?

When he looked back at Dex, Derek couldn’t tell if his ears or his hair was redder. Probably his hair, but it was a pretty close thing. “What?” he asked, making his voice sound as innocent as he could. “I mean-”

“So, what,” Dex barked as he stalked closer to Derek, “I’m so white that I _can’t possibly_ know anything about you? I admit that as a white guy, I may not be personally aware of the Black experience, but did you ever stop to think that maybe I grew up with Black parents? After I was kicked out as a kid, I was adopted by two of the most caring, loving Black gay men and brought up in a household where I was taught _everyone_ is equal? That’s just not possible, right?”

Derek knew that he’d touched a nerve. And for all that he did to try and not judge people without knowing them first, he knew that he’d stepped in it with this guy, who looked so angry he was practically vibrating. 

“And it’s not possible that one of those guys – the one who I have called ‘Pappa’ since I was eight years old – is an artist? One of the best drag performers on the Eastern Seaboard? And when we fell on some hard times because they were going without to make sure that I went to the best possible schools, I couldn’t – I don’t know – learn how to paint my Pappa’s face before he went in for a show that night?” He got nose to nose to Derek, so close that every word Dex said echoed itself as a hot breath against Derek’s cheeks. “All that’s just bullshit, right? Because, as a white dude, I have absolutely _zero_ credibility as someone who can do makeup, clothing, and design for any other person, regardless of what color on the spectrum their skin falls.” Derek stares into two amber-colored eyes that looked as if they could spit fire. “Right?”

The moment stretched between them, and Dex finally stepped back.

The silence stretched between the four of them for what seemed forever, broken when the short blond one called Bitty tweaked the button his headset and said, “On my way.”

Derek slowly closed his eyes, then opened them and found Dex still standing in front of him, face still so red it could be on fire. “Look, dude. I’m _really_ sorry,” he said, then held out a hand. “Can we start over?” Without waiting for an answer, Derek reached out for Dex’s hand. “My name’s Derek. Derek Nurse. I’m here for a commercial shoot, and I’d love it if you could help get me ready.”

It took a second for the look on Dex’s face to fade. But as soon as it did, it truly felt like might be starting over. “Dex. Will Poindexter, but everybody calls me Dex for short. I’m in charge of makeup and design. That’s my friend Larissa Duan,” he said, pointing to Lardo, who had a smirk on her face, “camera operator. But you can call her Lardo. Or Lards.”

“Really good to meet you both. Oh, and to work with you,” Derek replied, giving each one a nod. “Looking forward to doing this shoot.”

“You say that _now_ ,” Lardo mumbled, her voice loud enough for anyone on set to hear, but only just.

The shoot had already piqued Derek’s curiosity, and now this. “What do you mean?” Derek asked in reply.

But before Lardo could respond, Dex took Derek by the elbow. “Don’t worry about that right now, or I’ll have to fill in worry lines as well as the bags under your eyes.”

“Okay. Chill,” Derek replied, then let Dex guide him to a chair nearby. There wasn’t a traditional lighted makeup mirror, but then again, he wasn’t going to need it. He closed his eyes and let Dex get to work.

First came a cooling, slightly stinging sensation under each eye. Before he was able to ask, Dex said, “These are little pieces of magic. They may sting a little because they have caffeine in them, but they work wonders on your eyes. So while they work, I’m just going to even out your skin tone.” Derek opened his eyes just as Dex added, “Not that you need it, really.”

Derek smiled, but Dex was quick to stop him with a short intake of breath. “Okay, no big movements – sorry,” he said. “But, thanks.”

Derek gave Dex the world’s tiniest smirk as he continued putting a complementary color powder down Derek’s neck. “Yeah, yeah. I have a feeling you don’t need anyone stroking your ego there.”

“I dunno,” Derek replied, keeping his jaw tight. He reopened his eyes and locked onto Dex’s, drawn to the amber color like a moth to a flame. “A little stroking never hurt anyone.” And though he probably didn’t intend it, Derek couldn’t help but lean into Dex’s strong thumbs as it evened out the makeup around his eyes.

Dex suddenly stopped mid-movement, the feathered end of the powder brush he’d been holding away now turned and leaned against Derek’s earlobe, tickling it ever so slightly. When he finally started again, Dex pulled the two spent strips from underneath Derek’s eyes and said, “How ’bout we see how long you can be quiet, eh?”

“That’s a fine,” Lardo replied. 

“Fine?” Derek asked.

Dex sighed as he shook his head. “ _That_ didn’t last long, now did it?” He stepped back, turned to wink at Lardo, and then gave Derek a once over. “Inside joke,” he said by way of explanation. “Okay, hipster boy. I think you’re pretty much done.” As he admired his work and followed up with a couple of extra brush strokes, he added, “Makeup-wise, at least.” He got Derek out of the chair, then considered him up and down before adding, “But those green pants aren’t gonna cut it with the vibe of this commercial. I’ve got some khakis and a polo for you to change into.” He reached over to a portable wardrobe and grabbed a muted red polo and undershirt, then after a short glance between Derek’s hips and feet, added, “30/36?”

“Yeah, those’ll do,” he said as he pulled his now untucked faded gray Henley over his head, careful not to disturb the makeup that’d been applied. He took his time folding his shirt but wasn’t sure where he could stash it until Dex reached out and snapped his fingers. “I’ll take it,” he said as he handed over a pair of nondescript khakis. “Put these on.”

Derek’s hands went to his belt but quickly came to a stop as a thought darted through his head. “Umm,” he asked, stretching it out like it was several syllables long. “Is there a place…” he asked while glancing around.

“Yeah, _the Chads_ are redoing the only dressing rooms we have,” Lardo said from behind him.

“Fucking _Chads_ ,” Dex said, then caught Derek’s gaze. “All the dressing rooms. _At the same fucking time_.” He shook his head, then said, “Best we can do is space behind the wardrobe here.” He bobbed his head toward the sparsely filled rack, then said, “Otherwise there’s a couple of bathrooms at the very front. But trust me. With all the shit going on around here, nobody’s gonna realize you’re in your skivvies.”

“That’s not it,” Derek replies. And if Derek’s skin was as pale as Dex’s, he was sure that he’d be blood red right about then. “I… can’t remember if I’m wearing underwear or not.”

There was a loud, barking laugh behind him from Lardo, but it was Dex’s muttered, “Are you fucking kidding me?” that caught Derek’s attention. “Seriously?” Dex asked. “Explain to me exactly _how_ you aren’t _exactly_ sure you’re wearing underwear again?”

“Well, you know – they’re boxers. And…”

“Would they happen to be _blue_? Blue boxers?” Dex asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled the waistband of the boxers that Derek was _obviously_ wearing. Derek was almost embarrassed, but stumbled when Dex tugged again on the waistband. After he took a step back, Dex asked, “Seriously, I have to know,” he said as he ran a hand through his closely cropped red hair, his cheeks and the tips of his ears almost as red. “How is it you were able to walk in here today unaided? I mean, if you’re so unsure if you’re wearing underwear or not.”

“Look, asshole,” Derek replied, but quickly stopped himself. He closed his eyes, turned his head to the side, and took a deep breath in. “Sorry,” he said, then tried to calm himself down. “It’s just... Have you ever worn boxers instead of briefs? Or boxer briefs?”

“No,” Dex replied, his arms again crossed. “I like my dick and balls _supported_ , thank you very much.” And Derek wouldn’t know if he did it on purpose or not, but Dex pushed against the crotch of his jeans. Which Derek watched – rapt attention – until someone nearby cleared their throat and pulled him back to the moment.

“Well, there you go,” Derek said. “I kinda like to let things fall where they may.” He gestured to his crotch, as if to make his point, then nodded. He knew that he was about to smile and diverted his train of thought by any means necessary. Nuns. The preamble to the Constitution. How many constellations he could find hidden in the freckles of Dex’s cheeks. _Dammit_.

“Then what the hell’s the point of wearing them at all?” Dex asked him. His face immediately went even redder as the question hung there between them. All that did for Derek was hide what few constellations he’d found.

“Dude. I came here knowing I was supposed to be wearing someone else’s pants. Why wouldn’t I?” He shook his head and again made himself _not_ smile under any circumstances. “I’m just so freaking tired that I couldn’t remember if I’d put them on.” He looked away, not taking any chances, but soon found his attention once again diverted to the blustering makeup artist.

Dex sighed, then ran a hand over his face, as if that could send the blood back to where it was needed. “God, you’re infuriating,” he finally said, then turned to Lardo. “And you! What the hell are you laughing about?”

Lardo just smiled at them both, her forgotten camera equipment strewn around her. “I could watch this all day, dudes.”

“Shut it,” Dex said to her, though his voice held more amusement than heat. But it was enough to get Derek to laugh. And though Dex, with his crossed arms and red face, was enough to look angry, for some reason, he just reminded Derek of a push pop, the frozen treats that he’d gotten one of his nannies to buy him whenever the ice cream truck drove by when he was a child. “What the hell?”

Derek couldn’t hold it in anymore. He stifled his laughter, then reached out like he was waving Dex off. “I’m sorry,” he said as he caught his breath, then dabbed at a tear. “I’m just fucking with you,” he finally admitted.

Dex and Lardo shared a look. “What?” Dex asked, his face turning a shade darker than it had been previously. “What the hell do you mean you’re fucking with me?”

Derek knew he was blushing himself, but also knew he had to confess his secret. “I _knew_ I was wearing boxers, okay? I just... God, it was just _so easy_ to get you all worked up.”

“Jesus, you’re an asshole,” Dex replied. He turned to Lardo. “Where the fuck do they even find these jerks? Is there like a ‘Piss Will Off’ section at Target or something?” He dared to look slightly ashamed as he turned to Derek and said, “No offense.”

“None taken, dude. It’s chill,” Derek replied. “Besides. The day’s still young, so you can get me back.” He stripped out of the pants he was wearing and put on a pair of khakis, then snagged the belt Dex had left for him and looped it through the belt loops.

Lardo took that moment to clear her throat quite loudly, and what was that all about? Derek looked at her as she and Dex shared a glance, and Dex came out of the whole unspoken conversation looking slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah, we’re even,” he mumbled, then went to fiddle with the makeup.

Derek took a step closer, and this time he was able to tell the difference between a flushed, angry-looking Dex and an embarrassed one. When Dex wasn’t forthcoming, Derek stepped even closer. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked as Dex carefully folded up Derek’s pants and put them with his soft gray shirt.

Dex wouldn’t meet his eyes and defiantly kept his mouth closed. As the seconds ticked on, and the silence stretched, with absolutely _nothing_ coming from Dex, it was finally Lardo who spoke up. “It was a complete lie,” she said.

Lie? What lie? “What the fuck?” Derek asked though he maintained his focus on Dex.

Dex cut his eyes to Lardo, and Derek watched as his jaws clenched. He was sure this dude ground his teeth in his sleep with the amount of grinding his jaws were doing. “I wasn’t adopted,” he finally said.

Derek felt like he was just smacked in the face with a puck. “Huh?”

“Wasn’t adopted. Don’t have two gay Black dads. Don’t call one of them Pappa. Don’t have a gay dad that’s a drag queen.”

Derek felt like the first time he’d ever put on a pair of skates and stepped on the ice, wholly unbalanced and about to fall. “What the fuck, dude? So you’ve never painted a drag queen then?”

“Actually, yeah. I have,” Dex replied as he squared his shoulders. “That shit’s true. She’s just not my dad.”

After standing for what felt far too long with his hands on his hips, Derek walked over to the mirror to admire the makeup and his outfit. “Fuck, dude. You’re good,” he said, though he didn’t entirely mean the ensemble.

Without taking the time to accept the compliment, Dex replied, “It worked, didn’t it?” After a beat, he finally said, “And thank you.”

Derek couldn’t believe that he’d been taken in by this tall ginger guy who looked more like an athletic nerd than anything else. “Sure as hell did,” he said, and then it all kind of slipped into place. “But then again, I bet you get assholes like me _all_ the time who don’t want to get their shit done by...”

“By a ginger nerd, yeah,” Dex replied. “Lardo helped me come up with a story. Just in case...” He had a smirk covering his face and had the nerve to look proud of himself. 

Derek reached out and fist-bumped Dex, and then turned to do the same to Lardo. “That shit’s tight,” he said. It wasn’t often that someone got something over him. But he had a feeling that neither Dex nor Lardo gave away that secret to just anyone. As he stewed, they all three shared a laugh.

“Shit, man,” Derek said. “If you were bullshitting me, then how the hell did you not know I was bullshitting you?” he asked. “I mean,” he looked down, then gestured to his crotch, “’ _I can’t remember if I’m wearing underwear or not_?’” he said. “I mean... You can _tell_.”

Derek watched as Dex looked everywhere _but_ his crotch. “I dunno,” Dex said. “I mean, I didn’t want to just – you know – _assume_.”

Derek shared a look with Lardo and then searched Dex’s face. “Assume...” he said, when Dex wasn’t forthcoming. “You know,” he continued. 

The thing was, Derek _didn’t_. 

  
Derek just shook his head because no, he did _not_ know.

Dex wiped a hand down his face as if to dislodge an overwhelming amount of frustration that had settled there. “I mean, you don’t have to – you know – _have a dick_ – to be a dude.” And boy, was he red. “If you say and present yourself to me as a dude, then you’re a dude.” His statement was followed by the heaviest sigh possible. He didn’t seem embarrassed. More like this was likely something that he’d struggled with some time in the past. Derek got it – most people struggled with transgender issues at one time or another if it didn’t affect them regularly. 

Derek stood there for a moment, not able to respond beyond, ‘I’ve got a dick dude, if you want to see it,’ which – no – _completely inappropriate_. But it was Lardo who broke the silence with, “Shitty would be so proud of you, Dex.”

Shitty. Now _there_ was a name that Derek hadn’t heard in a while. “Shitty?” he asked as he turned to Lardo. “Shitty _Knight_?”

“Oh jeez, don’t tell me you know Shitty, too?” Dex asked.

“Three years ahead of me at Andover, plus we played hockey,” Derek replied. “You?”

“Three years ahead of me at Samwell, plus hockey, yeah,” Dex replied. He bobbed his head to Lardo. “He and Lards are dating.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Lardo said, then threw a wadded up piece of paper at Dex. “Not... Not like _officially_ dating,” she said. And even though she probably weighed 110 pounds soaking wet, there was something about her that looked like she could tear either of them up. Probably both at the same time. “Don’t start with me, dude,” she said. “I know where you live.”

“Well, since it’s currently yours and Shitty’s spare room, _I should hope so_ ,” Dex replied, clearly without regard for life nor limb.

“Dude, no,” Derek said, then lightly smacked Dex’s arm. “She looks like she will absolutely _fuck you up_.”

Lardo beamed. “I knew I liked this one,” she said, and then went back to getting her equipment ready. And with that, Dex went back to his makeup, straightening things up as well. Derek was left with nothing to do, so he went to his backpack and got out a notebook. He read over a few of the poems he’d written, and with a renewed sense of inspiration, decided to try and write a bit more.

It was Dex that broke the silence first. “Not that you two aren’t a trip, dudes. But man, can we just get this shit over with already?”

“Not yet, man,” Lardo replied. “Still waiting on female talent and _Chad_.”

“Fucking _Chad_ ,” Dex replied as he straightened the portable wardrobe.

With the sudden gust of energy, Bitty brushed onto the small set, a tall generic-looking blond man in a Members Only jacket and skinny jeans close on his heels. He _looked_ like a Chad and was far more hipster than Derek would ever _want_ to be. And there was something about him that turned Derek’s stomach.

“No female talent yet,” Bitty announced as he breezed through. He barely slowed, but the bland blond man stayed behind, a blank look on his face.

“Larissa. William,” the tall man said with a nod to each, then eyed Derek up and down. “You must be Derek?” He leaned forward and offered a hand, which Derek shook. “Am I saying that right?”

Suddenly Derek felt dirty and slightly angry at this complete _douche_ that was obviously in charge. “And you must be Chad,” Derek said. He would typically add a ‘nice to meet you,’ but this dude? No. It wasn’t. So instead of that, he said, “So tell me about this _progressive_ commercial we’re here for.”

“Oh, that,” Chad said like Derek had just put him out by asking the question. “Well, it’s a well known soup company that’s been around for just ages. They want to try and make themselves appeal to a larger number of families, and have found that there’s a demographic they haven’t tapped into yet.”

Suddenly the air quotes started to make sense. “Let me guess,” Derek said. “My scene partner for this – she’s a _white girl_. Isn’t she?”

Chad smiled a sickly-sweet smile that nearly made Derek’s skin crawl. And from behind him, he could hear Dex muttering something, though it was so quiet that it could have been mistaken for heavy breathing. “Why yes,” Chad said as he stepped closer. It was almost predatory-like and made Derek want to bolt. “They have decided to make a mixed-race marriage homelife commercial to see if they can better tap into that market.”

“Mixed race,” Derek said. “Like mixed-race marriages that have been legal for over 60 years? Here? In the United States?”

“It’s all terribly exciting,” Chad said, though his voice was anything _but_ excited. “We’ve had this account for quite a while, but this is the first non-traditional commercial that they’ve ever wanted to make.”

“Non-traditional,” Derek repeated, then glanced back at Lardo, who, if she rolled her eyes any harder, would probably be able to look at the inside of her brain. “I mean, don’t get me wrong or anything, but this is bullshit.”

Chad’s eyes practically bugged out of his head.

“I mean, come on. Interracial marriage? Seriously?” Derek asked. “Legal. For 60 years.” He didn’t want to sound preachy, but at the same time, didn’t want to be part of something that was so patronizing that it felt like a slap in the face. Still, he needed the money because he was tired of relying on his parents and his trust fund all the time. And because Chad looked like he was about to have an aneurism, Derek decided to try a new line of argument. “Let me guess,” he said, his head cocked to the side. “All of the marketing execs that were in the room when this decision was made – the ones that made this decision. All white dudes between fifty-five and seventy?”

Chad looked like someone had just doused himself in spoiled milk. “Not _all_ men,” he said. “There _was_ a woman. A _female_ executive.”

“And was she older than just about everyone else in the room?” Derek asked.

“Well, what does _that_ have to do with anything?” Chad asked him. 

So yes. Probably Martha Washington herself. Clearly, Derek had hit a nerve. But before Chad could pull out his phone and have him fired, he wanted to offer a suggestion. He’d worked with people like Chad before. The publishing world was full of them, and you just had to do things _just so_ to push them along to the point of them realizing where they were being led and then pick it up from there.

“No female talent,” Bitty said as he swept in from god knows where. He stopped in front of Chad, held up a finger when Chad looked as if he was about to order him about, and said something into his headset. After a brief, “Okay, sugar, thanks,” he turned back to Chad. “Talent called in. She’s been cast in some horrible new reality series and forgot to tell us.” He looked at Chad, a smile on his face. But Derek knew smiles like that, too. “Want me to pull someone from another set? There’s not many since _someone_ fired the on-site talent pool to pull from,” he added. No doubt that had been a Chad decision. Or at least someone Chad-like.

“No,” Chad said as he bit his thumbnail. “Let me think a minute.”

“Perfect,” Derek said.

When Derek smiled, having planted the seed, he suddenly felt all eyes were on him. And as he turned and caught Dex’s gaze, he smiled and then winked. There was a sudden moment of clarity there, and Dex’s eyes got big as if he was able to read Derek’s mind. While Derek continued to smile, Dex gave him a minute headshake. 

Derek wrinkled his nose at him as if to say, ‘Why not?’.

“So look,” Derek said as he turned back to Chad. “Statistically, the number of interracial, _heterosexual_ families has been static for a while now. And that number isn’t likely to get any bigger, percentage-wise.” He chanced a glance at Dex, who looked like he was about to bolt, so Derek took a few steps closer, grabbed him by the shoulder, and then pulled him so that they stood just adjacent to Bitty. “But you know what number of families _are_ growing?” He put an arm around Dex, who at first chance, shrugged out of Derek’s hold. But Derek pulled him close once again, this time with a hand at Dex’s waist. “ _Gay_ couples.” He squeezed Dex closer but was almost instantly repaid with an eyebrow pencil to the ribs.

His idea was met with instant handwaves. “No, no. Too progressive,” Chad said.

“Think about it,” Derek said as Dex managed to pull away from him. This time he let him go. “Every single junior executive on that team pitched a gay couple because _that’s_ the growing demographic out there. But the muckity-mucks at the company threw that out and went with what was _safe_. Not what was right.”

There was something in Chad’s gaze that told Derek he was actually considering it. 

“You’d open up the firm to an entirely new line of clientele,” Derek said in a sing-song voice. “Not to mention all the recognition for you _personally_.”

Appealing to his ego was what usually worked on people like Chad. But as the gears churned in Chad’s head, a small entourage of what looked like clones of him walked by talking inanely. And in that short moment, it was like Chad’s whole demeanor had changed. Like he’d been rebooted from the mothership. “Nope. Nope. Can’t do it. It’s not what the client asked for.”

Derek was about to speak up, appeal to his ego again, but Bitty did first. “I’ll do it.”

Chad looked down his nose at Bitty. “You?” he asked, drawing it out and making it sound like an insult.

Bitty took off his headset and placed it on the set’s counter. He crossed his arms, mirroring Chad’s stance, and looked up at him with as menacing a look as he could muster. “Look, _Chad_ ,” he said. “I’m only helping out around here in this capacity because I haven’t been allowed to put together my creative team yet. Just because I’ve been wearing a headset for a few weeks and helped people out doesn’t mean that I’m any less of a creative person than,” he took a step back, looked Chad up once, then back down again, and finished, “ _anyone else_ here.”

Chad flounced with the energy of a five-year-old that had just been told he was going to the pediatrician for shots. “ _Fine_ ,” he said, then followed up with, “Later, _losers,_ ” and walked off.

Derek didn’t even wait before Chad turned a corner to let his thoughts known. “That guy’s a _dick_!” He hoped Chad heard him. Almost didn’t care if it did.

Bitty just smiled a sickly, evil smile as he turned to Chad’s retreating form. “Bless his heart,” he said. “He has no idea what I’m about to do here.”

Derek shared a look with Dex, and then with Lardo – who had what looked like the beginning of a wicked smile on her face. “What _are_ you about to do here, Bitty?” Lardo asked.

“Okay, everyone. Get ready to get back to work,” is all Bitty replied, dismissing them with a wave of his hands, then turned his attention to Derek. “Now, let’s compare notes, shall we?”

~*~*~

It turned out that Bitty had some pretty good ideas as well. He had been one of the folks that was in the meeting with the soup company advertising board and had been steamrolled when he’d suggested playing to the younger, more ‘with it’ crowd with less time for meal prep but more disposable income. Derek had to laugh when Bitty said one of the old-timers complained about “the damned hippies ruining everything these days.”

“So that just leaves us with talent,” Bitty said as he finished writing a few ideas out. “Oh!” he exclaimed, then reached out and touched Derek’s arm. “You’re okay with this, right, sugar?” When Derek didn’t respond, he added, “Being in a _gay_ commercial?” And even though Derek was the one that brought it up, he had to smile when Bitty lowered his voice slightly on the word _gay_.

“Like you even have to ask,” Derek giving him a warm smile in return. “And not that it matters or anything, but I’m pan.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Bitty replied, then turned, a faraway look on his face. “Shitty told me the difference between omni and pan one time. But he was _really_ high, and I’d had a few beers, so I can’t really remember.”

Derek nodded. At least he didn’t run into the whole, ‘That just means you’re a glorified bisexual, right?’ argument. Here, with new people that felt like old friends he’d known for ages, he just felt comfortable.

“And I was thinking,” Derek said. “They originally wanted interracial, right?” When Bitty nodded, Derek pointed over to Dex, who was busy organizing a toolbox full of makeup. “Why not Dex?”

Dex looked up at the mention of his name, but Bitty spoke first. “Well, he’d have to want-”

“ _No_!” Dex replied. 

“Dex, honey,” Bitty said as he walked over and took Dex by the elbow. It was interesting seeing Dex try to appear smaller than Bitty through his body language, even though he towered over Bitty by more than half a foot. “I know you’re only doing this job because you got laid off, darlin’. And there’ll be some good programming jobs out there really soon; I’m just sure of it. But this’ll pay a _lot_ more than just doin’ makeup, and wouldn’t it be good to have that cushion in your bank account?”

Dex was red to the tips of his ears. “But Bits,” he said, his voice far too close to a whine. 

Bitty smiled, then patted Dex on the chest as he beamed up at him. Dex was so red that he nearly clashed with the red shirt Derek was wearing. “I promise that this is gonna be good, okay, Will? You know I’d never steer you wrong.”

Derek watched as Dex looked down into Bitty’s face, giving him a look like he’d do anything for him. “Okay. Okay, yeah, Bitty. I’ll do it.”

With a pat on his chest, Bitty added, “Thank you, sweetheart.” He pointed to the makeup and wardrobe section and added, “Now hurry up and go get pretty.”

Dex took a stutter-step towards the makeup area but stopped. “Yeah, about that,” he said as he pointed to the small wardrobe sample. There were duplicates of everything – just in different sizes, khakis and red shirts for the male lead, and cream-colored blouses and dark pants for the female lead. “First thing, I probably can’t wear that color red ’cause it’ll clash with my skin tone. Second, if I put on khakis and a red shirt, we’re gonna look like fucking clones.”

“ _Pretty_ clones,” Derek offered. He watched as Dex once again stumble-stepped. When Dex turned back to glare at him, Derek gave him his best smile. “Hey, ’s not my fault you’re as graceful as a newborn gazelle.”

Again, Dex rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what about me, Bits? I mean, this was the agreed-upon wardrobe from corporate.”

Bitty stood in front of the small selection of clothes, then turned and waved to Derek. “This one’s yours, right?” he asked as he picked up the shirt Derek had walked in wearing.

“Yeah.” Derek reached out to take it.

But instead of handing it over, Bitty shook the shirt out and then held it up to Dex’s frame, considering it. He turned back to Derek, one eyebrow cocked like he was asking permission, which Derek nodded to happily. “Keep the jeans, but put this on,” he said.

Without hesitation, Dex stripped out of the stained white t-shirt that he had been wearing, which gave Derek pause when he was presented with so much skin. How is it a skinny white ginger dude had such a tapered waist, and how was he hiding an 8-pack underneath it? Dex needed to pay better attention to what he was shopping for, because wow. 

Derek didn’t know he’d been daydreaming until he heard Bitty say, “Derek? Mister Nurse? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek said, agreeing to whatever Bitty had just asked. 

“Just a good laundering’ll fix that right up,” Bitty said. And now Derek was curious as to what he’d just missed. “But yeah,” Bitty added, “he _is_ a little broader in the shoulders. Fabric’ll stretch for the short term, and come back to normal after the next laundering.” With Dex in the shirt, which stretched across his broader shoulders and showed off his pecs just a bit, Bitty pulled him from where he was trying to blend into the wardrobe and put him by Derek’s side. He took a couple of steps back and considered them, then walked them into the kitchen area, but still standing like they were connected at the hip. “Lardo? What do you think?”

Lardo walked over and checked them out, then grabbed her camera and did a couple of test shots. “Yeah,” she said, then showed the playback to Bitty. “Yeah, the camera likes these two. Just,” she said, then nodded to Dex, “Tuck the shirt in.”

Dex began to, but then turned to Derek, an evil look on his face. “ _What_?” Derek asked when Dex wasn’t forthcoming with whatever he was withholding.

He smirked as he leaned closer, then said, “Thanks for the shirt,” as he tucked it deeper, “but just so you know, I’m not wearing underwear.”

Derek looked at him, slightly horrified when Dex made it into a bit of a show, just for him, adjusting himself. He knew that, on the rare occasion that _he_ went commando, that he would often use the hem of his shirt to ‘hold things together’ down there. And it was evident by the way Dex was moving that that was _precisely_ what he was doing.

“You can keep it,” Derek said with a smirk.

~*~*~

The script for the commercial, short as it was, remained pretty much the same for Derek and Dex as it was supposed to be for Derek and a woman, and that made Derek quite happy. Because, as he’d always argued, there was honestly not much difference, besides the semantics of what went on in the bedroom, between a gay couple and a straight couple. And while Dex had started the entire thing mostly stiff, between the touches here and the improvised forehead lean that Bitty called for in a closeup shot, bit by bit, he became more comfortable.

The entire shoot took less than three hours. And though the script hadn’t called for it, Bitty had added a kiss over the pot of simmering bowls of soup that they’d set up for at the kitchen island. And when they weren’t in front of the camera, Derek took the opportunity to talk to Dex. At first, it was to help him get used to acting in front of a camera. But after a while, it was to honestly get to know him better. Dex was so much more than a laid-off programmer who did side work as a makeup artist and designer. “Oh, hey, I did the flowers, too,” he said after Derek had leaned over and smelled the fresh bouquet that made the entire set smell light and airy. 

“These are my favorite,” Derek said as he pulled up a branch of pinkish lavender from the vase. He took a deep breath in, letting the scent into his body. It would help him remember the day long after the flowers had been tossed. And he smiled when he looked up at Dex, a nearly identical shade of pink suffusing across his cheeks. Dex’s ability to blush on demand was fun, but it made acting with him somewhat challenging.

Derek was no stranger to acting. He’d relied on it a little more these days, what with the lagging sales of his first two books and the depressing non-existence of his third book. Acting with Dex had been a fantastic time; they pretended to be the happy newlyweds that had just bought their first home, sharing one of their first meals in the house. It was just acting. And yes, Derek knew that a kiss shared between two actors was just something clinical – something that meant absolutely nothing at the end of the day. But he also felt something whenever Dex’s slightly chapped lips brushed against his; he felt it in his legs as they went the tiniest bit weak. Felt it in his stomach, over every inch of his skin, and in his chest as his heart began to race.

They’d shot the commercial from several different angles and probably had a couple of hours of footage recorded, which was way more than they needed for a thirty-second spot. He knew they were filler, anyway, or at least a bunch of the footage was filler. There was no real dialogue because most commercials with this type of budget were done mostly via voiceover. That, and the fact that they weren’t mic’d up, told him everything he needed to know about it.

Still, it was a nice amount of money to spend for an afternoon’s work. An afternoon spent mostly either aggravating Dex, seeing just how many shades of pink and red he could get Dex to express. And the other part that even bugged him a bit was the amount of kissing that they’d done. It was good – don’t get him wrong. But it was also affecting him in a way acting shouldn’t.

“Okay, this time a little closer,” Bitty had said and rearranged them over the small island, with Dex sitting on the barstool and Derek close behind him. They ran the scene a couple of times, letting Lardo move the camera to get it from different angles.

The angle, for Derek, standing over a seated Dex, was just perfect. There was something about having Dex underneath him that did something to his insides. Dex was warm under the lights, and Derek could feel his breath coming faster as he leaned down for the kiss. The same kiss that had ended all of the shots – the same kiss that had gotten Derek worked up. Except this kiss was different. This kiss was warmer, more sensual, and Derek couldn’t help but tighten his grip on Dex’s shoulder, pulling him closer until-

“Oh, Dex, honey. No tongue.”

Dex and Derek broke off their embrace, pulling away quickly. Without trying, Dex was out of the chair, and they put about three feet distance between them. Still, Derek reached up to touch his lips, still warm from the stolen kiss. “Will?”

“Shit. _Shit_!” Dex said, his voice husky but with a touch of something not quite right. “Dude, I’m sorry. That-“

“No, no,” Derek said. He tried to reach out, but Dex pulled away, so Derek dropped his arm to the side. He stepped a bit closer, but Dex wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s okay, De – _Will_. It’s okay.”

Dex shook his head, even redder than he had been when Derek had gotten him all riled up over the boxers thing. “No, sorry,” he said. He glanced at Derek, then turned to where Bitty and Lardo were standing. “Bitty, I’ve gotta go.”

“Dex, wait,” Derek replied.

“Bitty?” Dex asked without looking at Derek. “We were just about done, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his toolbox of makeup and asked, “You got all the shots you need, right, Lardo?”

Lardo looked mostly agreeable, but there was a hint of disappointment in her look. Bitty looked shellshocked but shook his head as he came out of it.

Dex stopped for a second and almost looked like he was going to hug Bitty, but instead reached over and put a hand on his shoulder instead. “Thanks for the opportunity,” he said, and then took off at a quick pace. Before he disappeared around a corner, he turned and caught Derek’s gaze. In the shadows, Derek was able to make out the quiet, “Sorry,” rather than hear it.

It broke his heart.

~*~*~

Something had lit a fire in Derek’s soul the day of the shoot. He knew that whatever it was had been inspired by Dex. Not just the kiss – but honestly, it felt like everything he’d been through that day had some sort of impact on him, most of it good. When he’d left the building, not too long after Dex had fled because yes, they _were_ done with the shoot, he’d found his way back to the T and gotten back home, filling his notebook as the train sped towards his apartment. He’d even missed his stop because he was mid-word and had to double back from the next station.

While he wanted to find Dex – after all, it shouldn’t be too hard, since he knew his name, what he did, as well as the fact that he was a laid-off programmer – Derek decided against it. At least for now. If Dex came to him, then fine, he would make an effort. But for now, he focused on getting the words down on the page first, sometimes losing entire days to his rapidly filling notebooks. Sometimes he would lose focus and could almost feel lips ghosting against his, but for the most part, he’d managed to forget the commercial shoot. He filled his days with poem and prose, only to be haunted with the memory of Dex’s touch, his taste, as they chased him into sleep.

The three weeks since the shoot had been so productive that Derek was almost shocked into remembering the day when he opened his email – ready to send off his newly finished manuscript to his publishing agent – when he saw an email from’ Eric R. Bittle at Bishop Creative.’ “Bitty?” he said as he clicked on the email, some part of him hoping that Dex would be copied on the email.

Dammit.

So he kept reading. Even with as long as it had been, Derek could hear the words in Bitty’s voice quite perfectly. The commercial had been finalized, though with a rough-cut of the narrator, as that would be put together by another team, combining both into one cohesive commercial, along with whatever background music a third team had selected. He said that early buzz about the commercial was a success and that even the advertising executives noted that there was a quality to it that they liked. 

“ _The commercial will be finalized next week, and then shipped off to four test markets for a six-week run. If all goes well, and there’s no reason to think it won’t, it will go nationwide within two months. It’s all very exciting!_

_I look forward to working with you again, should the chance arise. We all do – ERB”_

So it was done. Derek wanted to know what markets it might be in, though he didn’t know what good it would do him. No doubt, there would be people who were in charge of counting cans of soup sold week by week, comparing weeks when the commercial showed versus pre and post levels. He waved it off – it was far too confusing to think about – and sent Bitty a quick reply to keep him informed, as well as in consideration of any other commercials he might be suitable for – and then filed the email away so that he could get back to the subject at hand, his third book.

The thing was, his manuscript had already been pretty well polished by the time Derek sent it off to his publishing agent later that afternoon. And she ended up contacting him far too late that night for anyone with a 9 to 5 job to be awake, asking to meet him for coffee at a shop near her office. Not her office, but nearby, so that was odd. And when Derek showed up, he was fully expecting to be fired. Especially after blowing past his third extended deadline without a peep, and then emailing her a manuscript out of the blue.

He spotted her from the entryway, dressed impeccably, but with bags under her eyes that had probably rivaled Derek’s back when he’d shot the commercial. “Valentina,” he said as he dragged the chair out, sitting down across from her. He was distracted by a quick flash of red hair over at the pickup counter but dismissed it. No matter how many redheads he’d glanced at over the last few weeks, none of them were Will.

Derek settled into his chair, trying to get comfortable in the hard, oddly shaped wood that brought people in, but guaranteed they didn’t stay long. He looked up at her, finding brown eyes staring back at him. She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest in a look that reminded him so much of Dex that he couldn’t help but smile. And like Dex, she was mostly mute, sitting back and considering him, probably searching for just the right word to bite.

He could wait her out. Or at least he tried as he picked up the latte that she’d ordered for him, a glance at the nearby receipt showing that yes, it was a soy caramel mocha that was no doubt his. So he took a sip, enjoying the flavors, but when it became too much, put the cup down with a little bit more force than necessary. “ _What_?” he asked. He raised his cup to his mouth again, and then muttered behind the ceramic, “I know I’m a little late, but...”

“Yes, Derek, darling. You’re _a little late_ ,” she said, then pulled a notebook out of her oversized bag and unceremoniously dumped it on the table, jostling both their cups. “Three deadlines. Gone.”

Derek wanted to repeat Douglas Addam’s favorite quote about deadlines (“I love them. I love the sound they make when they whoosh by!”), but the look in his agent’s eyes told him that if he did, there was a chance that she would, no doubt, cause him bodily harm. “I know. Sorry,” he said instead of what he’d really wanted to say. “But is it okay? And I’m already working on my next book.”

Valentina tapped her hands on the manuscript that she’s no doubt printed out. “Derek,” she said, then opened it. The first page was the cover, which they’d agreed upon months previous, knowing that it would go with the theme of his last two books. She turned page after page. And where Derek was used to finding red mark after red mark, or at least notes in the margins, there was very little in the way of constructive criticism. 

Derek went suddenly cold. Was it crap? It was crap, wasn’t it? Oh god, he was _so_ getting fired. She’d even wanted to do it in public. To humiliate him in front of strangers instead of the few people that she shared an office with because it was so bad that...

“How did you do this?” she asked, breaking his fall of despair. Before Derek could respond, she poked a well-manicured finger to the page. “A hundred and fifty pages. More when we get it right with layout and such. And less than half a dozen notes throughout the entire work.” She again crossed her arms. “How the hell?”

“I’m... _Sorry_?”

Valentina rolled her eyes at him. “Seriously. I don’t know how you did it, but this? This is amazing. Just perfect. And I know that _Alice James_ has current rights, but you should know that my friend at _Copper Canyon_ says they’re willing to buy out your contract if you’re interested. As long as you can produce two more books over the next five years.”

“Jesus, Annie. I just emailed you the manuscript yesterday afternoon!” Derek said. He was freaking out inside and decided to hold his cup, to at least give his hands something to do.

She smiled back at him, a sweet smile, though with just a hint of something predatory. She’d given him that smile when he’d offered her his first book, and she’d found a buyer within days. But this one seemed to have something even more to it.

“I’m your agent, Derek,” she said innocently. “It’s what I do.”

~*~*~

The next few weeks were mostly a blur to Derek. They started out with him continuing on his fourth book, along with celebrating with friends and family over signing with _Copper Canyon_ , but stressed him out when he found out his new publisher wanted to do a book tour. It was something he’d always dreamed about, but once the opportunity presented itself, it honestly frightened him just a bit. For the most part, the tour would be on the East Coast, starting in Boston at a few smaller, independent bookstores. But the schedule, which would take four months, would eventually lead him all over the US and Canada. There was even talk of a European tour.

Though he was nervous, at the same time, he was somewhat happy about getting out of Boston. Because it didn’t matter really where he went; whenever there was a wisp of red hair, or he passed someone with freckles and a tight smile, it reminded him of Dex. He’d even gone out on a blind date once, just to try and get Dex out of his head, but it hadn’t worked. The kiss at the end of the evening was nothing like the fireworks he’d felt oh so many weeks ago at the kitchen bar of a fake kitchen set.

The first few book tour stops were pretty exciting, though the newness wore off, and they became more mundane than anything. Boston first, then Providence. Manchester. New Haven. By the time that he’d crossed over into Maine, he was happy that the Summer days had stretched the daylight. It meant he could drive up from Boston, but still have plenty of light before the sun set in Portland and Bangor. Plus, there was something that he liked about Maine. Not that he’d ever been, but he’d remembered that Dex had said he was from there. And there _did_ seem to be quite a few gingers the further up the coast he did. “Lots more Irish on the coast,” Valentina had said when she’d accompanied him to Portland, which made him smile for some reason. It wasn’t often that she accompanied him; she did it when she was able to. But those trips were automatically a lot more fun for Derek because they’d come in the night before, order room service, and raid the minibar as they watched sappy romantic comedies that doggedly did nothing to ease the memories of Will.

His trip to Bangor, though, was solo. Valentina had offered to fly him up, but Derek hired a car instead. It was only a few hour’s drive, and besides, it gave him time to write. After the commercial, it had been like a dam had burst, and he found himself writing more than ever. He’d come up the night before the signing and stayed in a Bed & Breakfast that was in the heart of the historic district, his room overlooking a river busy with boats, warm and light conversations and laughter drifting up through the open windows of his room.

Derek took his time getting ready the next morning, enjoying a private breakfast in his room as he continued to jot down new stanzas as they came to him. And once the clock ticked closer to 2 pm, when he was due for his book signing, he finally got up and got ready for the day.

He wasn’t sure what to expect in Bangor, but the town itself was quaint and from the looks of the stores that lined the main drive, fiercely independent. Sure, there was a Starbucks on the corner, but there were _two_ small-town coffee houses nearby, and each looked busier than the chain. And as for the bookstore, it sat in what looked like the unmistakable shell of a Barnes & Noble, long since shut. He had to smile as he got close and saw a picture of himself along with copies of his book and a sign declaring “Book Signing Today!”

Derek stepped inside, but before he could ask for help, someone walked up to him. She was in her 80s if she was a day, with a colossal head of messy, wispy white hair, a flower tucked behind her ear. “You’re that other young man from the soup commercial,” she said as she reached out and patted his hand. “Such a nice young boy,” she said, and then toddled off.

Wait. _Other_ young man? Was Dex here? He was supposedly from Maine. But no... Probably just that as an older person, she watched more television than regular people. No doubt, she had seen the commercial either since it’d gone nationwide or Bangor was one of the test markets. Either way... 

Before Derek could ask her, he was approached by a young woman in her 30s with a shock of red hair done up in a bun, freckles that made Derek smile, and glasses so smudged he wondered how she was able to see out of them. She _looked_ like a bookstore owner. He couldn’t explain it, but she fit the description perfectly. “You must be Derek? Derek Nurse?” she asked. When he nodded, she said, “We’ve been expecting you. Quite a few people have been waiting around, actually.” She led him to a small table with dozens of copies of his book, and wow, they were being optimistic about the number of sales, weren’t they? “You’ll be here,” she said as she gestured him to a padded chair. “We’ve got bottled water, hand sanitizer for the sneezers, and mints just in case. Oh, and there are snacks in the back for when you get hungry,” she added.

“Thank you...” he started, searching for her name.

“Oh, sorry! Saoirse Murphy,” she said. “I own this place. The _new_ owner, really. My mother managed it for years, but when the old owner decided to retire, talked her into me buying it.” She looked around. “It’s...” she started, then looked around her arms open, as if she held the weight of the store in her hands. “A lot,” she finally said.

“This store is just incredible,” he said, looking around as he took his seat.

Derek took it all in; the brilliant smiles of people that usually met him at these things, something that he couldn’t really get used to. But also, there was the smell of a printed book that brought back memories of his childhood, of hours spent in so many libraries. And something else... Lavender? He looked around the table, and behind the closest stack of books was a small vase with a few sprigs of lavender in it.

“This is amazing. Thank you,” Derek said, then leaned over and inhaled deeply from the lavender to capture as much of the scent as he could. It brought him back to that day in Bishop Creative, and if he closed his eyes most of the way, he could almost picture himself there on the set. Dex’s intense amber eyes gazing up at him...

The woman looked around, then moved the overflowing vase closer to him, a gentle blush on her cheeks. “Yes, well. We don’t get many authors up here, so this is a wonderful occasion for us.” She gestured to a small line of people, each one clutching a copy of his book. He couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of accomplishment seeing his book in people’s hands, all of them wanting to meet _him_. “I know you’re not scheduled to start for another fifteen minutes, but we have several people who have been waiting for almost an hour. Would it be okay if we started a few minutes early?”

Him. They were there _for him_. It was a strange feeling of accomplishment that he would never get used to. “Oh, absolutely,” Derek replied. “Please,” he said, then gestured to the first person in line.

Before the young man, who could have been a clone of Dex if he weren’t only ten years old, reached the table, Saoirse turned to the small group of people, her voice loud enough to be heard even outside of the building. “May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen? From now until closing time at 6 pm, author and poet Derek Nurse will be signing copies of his book in the great room. Please pick up a copy if you are interested, and come to the table set up in the great room to get it signed.”

“And tell your friends!” Derek added, which caused a tittle of laughter throughout the small group.

Saoirse again gestured to the young man, put an arm around him, and said, “This is my nephew Cillian,” she said, and Derek couldn’t help but smile. He hoped that the child’s last name wasn’t ‘Murphy’ as well, or he was going to be teased for the rest of his life. “He picked up your book when it first came out.” She patted him on the shoulder. “He’s actually the person who asked if we could get you to come up and do a book signing.”

“Are you now?” Derek asked. “Do you like poetry, Cillian?”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he watched Cillian blush as he nodded his head enthusiastically.

~*~*~

The afternoon soared by faster than Derek could have imagined. Saoirse spent much of the time either at his side or at least somewhere nearby, offering commentary about the people that were there to support him, other poets that she liked, or just giving him tips on where to go for dinner. There were more redheads in the crowd, which caused Derek to continually be on the lookout for the one tall, broad-shouldered man that had kissed him so sweetly so many weeks back. He was talking to an elderly lady who had _opinions_ about Pablo Neruda when he heard Saoirse announce over a loudspeaker, “The store will be closing in five minutes. Five minutes. Please make the difficult decision between that book you were told you should pick up and the book you _really want_ , and bring them to the front for check out, please!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t take up more of your time,” the woman said. “Best be gettin’ home for supper!” She rapped her knuckles sharply on the table, smiled, then walked away.

Derek sat back in the chair and stretched. He needed to get up and walk around but barely had the chance. He thought Bangor was a small town, but he must have met at least a hundred different people over the last few hours, so other than a quick bathroom break, he’d been sitting for quite a while.

“There you are,” he overheard Saoirse say as she fluttered about, wrangling the last few customers out of the vast store. He looked up, but could only see her as she stood at the end of an aisle talking to someone. “Well, go on,” she said, then turned to Derek. “One last straggler,” she said as she walked up to the desk. “Is that okay?”

Derek was about to nod his head when he looked over and saw him standing at the end of the aisle, peering around the oversized books on the endcap. “Will?”

Standing there, dressed pretty much the same as the last time he saw him except for a flannel thrown over the plain white tee, was Will. Dex. Except now, he was tanned, and somehow looked even more muscled than Derek had seen him last.

Dex gave him the barest hint of a smile as he stepped further away from the bookcase, like a child wanting to stay near the side of the pool for security. But after a few painstakingly slow steps, Dex sped up until he was standing just on the other side of the table, Derek’s poetry book clutched tight in his hands. “H-,” he started, then let out a breath and took another deep one. “ _Hi_ ,” he said as his cheeks blushed a deep red.

Questions. So many questions ran through Derek’s mind. But the first one that made it through to his mouth was, “What are you doing here?”

“Saoirse,” he said. “That’s my sister,” he added as he turned to point to her. “She owns this place. I’m still outta work, so I came up to work on her husband’s lobster boat.” He blushed an even darker shade of red right to the tips of his ears, though Derek wondered how that was even possible. As Saoirse walked away, he dropped his voice so that only they could hear it. “It’s good to see you again, Derek.”

Derek smiled but said nothing. He reached out and took the book from Dex, scribbled in it, and then handed it back.

Dex’s face was crestfallen, but his expression changed slightly when Derek said, “It’s good to see you, too, Dex.”

They both fidgeted for a moment too long before Dex tapped the book on the table. Was that a Mainer habit? And when no other words were spoken for too long a stretch, Dex caught Derek’s gaze. “I guess I should,” he said, then bobbed his head towards the main entrance and began to back away.

“Will?” Derek called, and Dex immediately stopped and turned back to face him. “Look at the inscription.”

Dex first turned the book over to the back cover and smiled at the black & white photo of Derek. Then he opened the book reverently and turned past the front page to where Derek had signed it. 

A confused look covered his face. “A number?” he asked. “What is it?”

Derek smiled up at him. “It’s my phone number,” he said, voice quiet. “So, just in case you decided to bolt again, _this time,_ you’d have my number so you could call me.”

The biggest smile that Derek had ever seen blossomed on Dex’s face, and he stepped forward. When Derek nodded, he came around the side of the table, almost within arm’s length. “You’d let me do that? Even after...” He blushed again, but Derek just focused on the freckled skin that he saw. Suntanned Dex might have had even more freckles than when he’d seen him last.

Derek hoped that the roll of his eyes was answer enough to Will’s question.

Dex stood up a little straighter. “I won’t run away again.” And though his voice was quiet, it was adamant. Derek believed him.

He reached out once again and took the book from Dex’s grip. He grabbed a different sharpie – this time purple, because why not, and opened it to scribble a little bit more, then handed the book back to Dex.

Dex opened the book, then read the inscription aloud. “Would you have dinner with me?” His eyes went big, and then he turned his attention to Derek, a bashful expression on his face.

“I’d love to,” Derek replied.

They shared a laugh, and Derek couldn’t help but smile as he watched Dex relax bit by tiny bit. There was something about _this_ Dex that fed Derek’s soul and made him crave spending time with him. As his mind wandered back to the moment, he realized the familiarity in their positions, just reversed this time with Dex standing over him, that was almost comforting. And at the same time, it triggered a memory. A memory of them back in a stage kitchen from weeks before. “You know something, Will? There’s still something you owe me.”

Dex’s freckles disappeared through the deep red blush. “Oh yeah,” he said, looking bashful. “I’ve got your shirt still, but it’s back in Boston.” He scratched at the back of his neck, giving Derek a good view of his biceps, which were _definitely_ bigger than they were during the shoot.

“No,” Derek said, “not that.” And then he pulled Dex close and stole back a kiss. A kiss that he felt in his stomach, over every inch of his skin, and in his chest as his heart began to race.

**Author's Note:**

> My head!canon for this AU 'verse:
> 
> Of course the Chads run Bishop Creative. They got big enough by being mediocre, but until Bitty's commercial (and other developments, see below) they hadn't gotten either a lot of praise, nor broken much new ground. The firm is called Bishop Creative because the original meaning of the word Lacrosse (yes, the Chads are LAX Bros - BOO!) is derived from a Bishop's crook. 
> 
> The reason Nursey was able to write and finish his third book was because Dex is his muse (something inspired by the incredible story [love finds you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089940)). In his heart, Derek knew this, and was prepared to hunt Dex down if the words dried up. But their short meeting filled the well for the time being. And now, after they've met up again? That well will never dry.
> 
> Cillian's last name isn't Murphy, it's Poindexter, but I had to leave that out for obvious reasons (at that point in the story). He's Saoirse's and Will's oldest brother's child. Cillian had always loved to read, both poetry and prose, but hadn't heard of Derek Nurse until Will gave him the first two books. So really, Will is responsible for getting Nursey up to Bangor.
> 
> Yes, part of the reason that Will ran was because he had his "Big Gay Freakout™". He talked to Bitty a week after he initially ran, and Bitty wanted to help him. But he also knew that everyone's journey was their own, so he left it be. Bitty said he wouldn't interfere, but based on a comment that Will had made ("I really miss him, Bitty. It's like he's definitely infuriating, but at the same time it feels like I left a part of myself back there in the studio." Even quieter, he added, "I hope I have the courage to see him again"), he felt it was okay to say Dex would like to work with him again.
> 
> Lardo does camerawork for two reasons. First, it's a side gig, because she's not able to support herself 100% on her art yet, though it's getting closer. Of course Shitty offers to pay their way because of his own trust fund, but fuck that - she may love him, but she knows she can only ever rely on her own self. Second, she does it because of the simple fact that it's a male dominated field. And nobody tells her what she can and can't do.
> 
> Not only does Bitty get accolades for the commercial, he's asked to do a bunch of other similar commercials. Additionally, yes, Bitty is dating Jack in this universe, but neither of them say anything to the Falconers, because neither want to appear of favoritism. The Falconers run a few promotional things via Bishop Creative and there is an incredible response. They move to Bishop Creative the next year, and Bitty is promoted to Partner in the firm for his leadership and efforts, and is above 80% of The Chads.
> 
> Yes, Dex was the one that put the lavender on Derek’s author table. He set the table up for Saoirse that morning and added it before disappearing. She figured it out, but didn’t say anything.
> 
> More to be posted, as I had a ton of stuff that just made sense...


End file.
